The Things Unsaid
by deanplaysguitarforcas
Summary: What happened on the "voodoo thing in New Orleans"? How much did Dean truly miss Sam? Dean's lost episode. This is NOT a Sam/Dean together-together fanfic. Sorry!
1. Chapter 1

disclaimer: I don't own the _Supernatural _characters or the plot line, just the "Dean's lost episode" idea

* * *

Almost two years. That's how long it had been since that awful, awful fight. Sam and John had screamed horrible things at each other, and Sam walked out. College. Stanford. That must've been where he was now. Probably with friends, maybe even a girlfriend. A normal life.

Dean wondered why he hadn't tried to stop it. And lately, he'd been drifting away from John, insisting on doing some things by himself, not speaking to him sometimes unless he asked Dean a question. John had almost seemed hurt. Dean had been filled with rage when John praised Sam so highly to Jerry when they were on the case. _Sam _wasn't here. He'd had enough. _Dean _was the one still here. John even acted like he hadn't made Sam run away.

* * *

Dean was so fed up with it that he finally took a case by himself, and John actually let him. So he was on his way to some voodoo thing in New Orleans. Far away from John, far away from Sam or anything painful.

The fire couldn't reach him here, nor could the pain of the past.

Dean just drove, his Metallica cassette playing, alone.

Alone and free.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Dean had made it to New Orleans and found a decently priced motel, it was pouring wet. Dean pulled under an overhang and bolted for the front door. He ripped it open, closing the door.

There was a girl reading a magazine at the desk. She looked up as he ran his fingers through his hair, the excess water splashing on the floor and soaking the carpet. "Need a room or just outta the rain?" "Both," he said. She nodded and started tapping the keys. "Uh... Room 1675, here's your key, if you're a serial killer try not to kill any guests, it's really hard to clean up for me. Just give the key back when you're done, you can pay then if you want."

Dean stared. She laughed. "Sorry. We get some weird people in here cause you only have to pay when you leave, no background check, nothing. I guess I just don't mind." "You run this place?" She nodded. "I'm the only one who works here. Self-employed. I'm Hayley, by the way." She really was pretty. "Ah, Dean," he said immediately. No alias hit his mind quick enough. "Dean, huh? Is that your car, Dean?" She pointed at the Impala, visible from the window. He nodded. "Now _that _is a nice car," she said. She handed him the keys. "Enjoy your stay. Hopefully." "Thanks." He took the keys. "Thanks, Hayley," he said. He didn't even have the will to add a pickup line. He was too distracted.

* * *

Dean closed the door to his room, sighing. He wasn't disappointed with the room. Scrubbed floor, clean sheets, no weird stains as far as he could tell. No. He wasn't sure what to do, without John or Sam. _Well,_ he thought, _what would Dad do? _His dad would get down to business. Dean threw his bag on the bed, sighing, and sat down. He ran his fingers through his hair, wondering where Sammy was. If he was happy. If he was smiling. If he had moved on from his family. From John. From Dean.

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**hey guys! This story is not done, just to tell you. I'll be posting a new chapter soon. thanks for reading, please review**


	3. Quick Note!

Sorry! This isn't a new chapter, but it would really help me out if you guys would help me with the voodoo stuff! I'm having a lot of difficulty finding more in depth details, and it'd help me a lot if you do so! Just message me with any details you find! It'd help so much and I would probably die of joy. None of my research books go into much depth or detail, so please help if you can! Also, I'll be posting a Destiel fanfic soon, if you wanna check that out, it'll be posted probably on March 3rd, and I should have at least five chapters by then. Peace out, hakuna matata, party on, Garth!


	4. Chapter 3

**hey guys! new chapter posted! *fist pump* I'm sorry if I got any details inaccurate, I worked hard on this! Enjoy, and please review! **

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It had been a week since Dean had arrived in soaked New Orleans. He sat at some crappy little bar a few blocks from Hayley's motel. He took a slow and steady drink of Jack Daniels. So far, only a few leads. One woman had brutally and slowly died in her home while wearing a voodoo charm bracelet. A man had been electrocuted restarting his computer— and Dean had found a good old fashioned hex bag crammed into the disc drive. So far, he couldn't find any connection, and there were several places that sold voodoo charms. But someone was certainly dedicated if they went to the trouble of making a hex bag to kill a computer programmer with no criminal affiliations.

He slid his empty glass to the bartender. She raised an eyebrow as she scrubbed a glass. "Bad week?"

"What? What do you mean?" She laughed a little. "I mean, this is probably your fourth. Here. This one's on me." She set down the glass she was scrubbed, and turned to the shelf of alcohol. She searched for the bottle. "Hayley! When I said you could have it, I meant give it back!" She shouted at a back table.

"Okay, fine! Picky, picky, Laura." Hayley came around the bar, handing it to the brunette bartender, Laura. She waved at Dean with two fingers.

"You two know each other?" Laura asked. "Yep," Hayley answered. She played with a strand of her coal-dark hair, then moved around the bar to Dean.

"Hey," she said, dropping onto the stool beside him. "You mind if I have a drink?" Dean shook his head. "Nah." He didn't know why, but he didn't even feel like flirting, not even with a pretty girl like Hayley.

Right now, his mind was on Sam. Even if he was supposed to be researching just like his dad taught him to, he was procrastinating extremely. Mostly because research reminded him of his smart and smart-ass little brother. Sometimes he just wished the phone would ring one day and it would be his brother, so excited to talk to him, apologizing for walking out on him, and would talk so quickly about his new life that the words would blur together in one huge smudge of excitement.

He chewed his lip, biting so hard the rusty taste of blood rose in his mouth. Hayley was looking at him. She downed her glass in one gulp. Hayley wiped her mouth with her arm. "So, what brings you down here? Really, I mean."

Dean was sick of lies but he knew he couldn't tell her the truth. "I'm looking for someone," he answered. "I'd hoped they'd be here, but..." Hayley nodded. He looked in her eyes. She didn't pity him, he saw. She just knew the feeling. "Huh. Couple years back, that was me. I ran. Thought my mom was down here. I never found her. Guess I just started something for runners. I mean, not that you're a runner, I just—" "It's fine," he replied firmly, cutting her off. "I s'pose in some ways, I am running."

Hayley blinked slowly. Her deep green eyes had no idea what he'd been through. None. Not his mom dying, not how he was raised, not his brother, nothing. And for once he wanted to tell someone. He wanted to say it so bad, to spill his guts, and John wasn't here to stop him. But the words wouldn't climb up his throat, refused to part his lips even an inch, but hung in the air like a dark cloud.

Hayley pursed her lips. "I was wrong to run, I think," she said slowly. "I didn't see another way out. My dad planned out my whole life, you know? And I just got angrier and angrier until I just snapped. But I think I've got a better life here. More choices. Ability to spill my guts to one of my guests who I barely even know."

Dean wanted to smile at that, but he only allowed the edges of his mouth to prick up. Hayley watched him. Her eyes burned into him, leaving a blistering memory, and he was sure he'd never forget her cutting gaze.


	5. Chapter 4

**hello! great day of looking at au's and I remembered I have to write! please enjoy, and pretty please review, I'd appreciate the feedback. Please mention if I should add more of the hunt into my chapters. I know I haven't been super focused on the hunt, but I'd like to know if I should put the hunt in sooner. Prepare for a probably fifteen chapter story! Party on, Garth. (Ps I don't own anything and this is rated T for language and later violence)**

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_Dean sighed, _rubbing his eyes. He'd been combing through every website for any voodoo shop in New Orleans. Nothing. Okay, well, not every, he admitted to himself, but a shit ton, that was for sure. The library was supposed to close four hours ago.

Yet here he was, with a battered old computer, and the ability to Google. He closed his eyes, the light of the computer illuminating his face. Probably no sleep tonight. Dean took a deep breath, wondering when this hunt would be over.

He knew at least another week. He'd only been in New Orleans for eight days. Dean wondered if maybe, after he wrapped this up, he could sneak off and go talk to Sam. Not that his dad didn't let him, he just wanted his dad to see he was fine on his own. Really. He was twenty-six, not five.

For the billionth time since Sam left, Dean wondered what it was like for him. Did Sam even miss them? Dean angrily shoved this thought to the back of his mind. Then his phone rang. He checked the ID. It was his dad.

Dean really didn't feel like talking to John. He knew John was probably keeping super-close tabs on him, and he hated that. But he knew he had to pick up, or else his dad would probably burst into town, guns blazing, before Dean could call him back.

Yep. He'd definitely do that. But Dean let it ring five more times before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Dean? What took so long?" Dean bit his already-raw lip, mashing his teeth in his soft lip skin hard.

"I was working," he answered, hoping his anger didn't show in his voice. "Something up, Dad?"

"Nah. Just checking in. I think I've got a case, here, son. But I gotta get some more evidence. How's your case going?"

Dean tried to steel his temper. "I think I've got a lead."

"Got a big steaming pile of nothing, huh?" Dean sighed, letting a stream of breath escape from his mouth, long and smooth. "So how's your case, Dad?"

"Well, I think this might be a good one. I'm heading up to Jericho, California tomorrow, son. Hope your hunt goes well."

"Thanks, Dad. Talk to you later." Dean hung up, rage simmering in his stomach. "Hope your hunt goes well"? Like that totally wasn't "You better do a damn good job or you're in huge trouble". Dean slammed the phone down, allowing his anger to boil, until he thought it would overflow and drown him in a steaming tide.


End file.
